Buxom Wenches
by xBlackRabbitx
Summary: When Sarah moves to Ireland, she makes a friend with whom she makes a wish. That wish takes them to their favorite novels, neither of which are Jareth approved... May contain heavy doses of crack and anti-Edward. Requires reader input!
1. Chapter 1

**VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTES**

Firstly: I'm not dead! I've just been keeping a promise to myself that I would only write one piece of fanfiction for every two chapters of my novel that I complete. Originally this also meant I could only write oneshots, but it's been a very long time since I wrote any fanfiction, and I've also written several short stories, so I felt I could cheat a little (a big short story contest I entered gets drawn on Saturday; wish me luck!). So, yes, if you've been missing me terribly, which I know you all have, then never fear, for I have returned! Well, until this story is done, anyway. Also, if you've read 'Into My Arms', you will recognise Meg. This is because I am lazy. This story does not, however, bear any connection to my previous works.

So, the story.

This is kind of the culmination of several separate ideas that have been floating around in my head. HOWEVER, unlike my other stories (with the exception of that one chapter in 'Sad Love'), it is not complete! Thus, it is likely to be chaotic, nonsensical and be uploaded at irregular intervals. Yay!

And that's where you come in.

**AUNTY BAZZA NEEDS YOU**. *points* Please tell me, in a review, your guilty musical pleasure. I want one song from each of you which is absolutely terrible, but you love anyway. I'll try and use as many of them as possible. In particular, I am looking for something about sparkles and glitter. This is a story with a soundtrack. Interactive, yay!

If you are a super-massive Twilight fan, or 'twihard' (which i think sounds like 'tryhard'), then this story is not for you. If you are crazy-defensive about your love for romance novels, this story is not for you.

Don't you just love the image of Jareth in a dressing gown (bathrobe to you Yanks) and fuzzy bunny slippers? So snuggly. Also, Google marmosets when you get to Meg's description. I think it's the third image. If anyone wants to buy/ smuggle me a marmoset, I will be eternally grateful.

I promise the giggles shall abound in later chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth or any related wotsits. A portune is a creature in Irish/ English mythy wotsits that may grant wishes if captured. I have never been to Ireland, and therefore have a somewhat romanticised view of it. I've done my best not to move into cliches, so hopefully I haven't offended anyone. Do, however, have fun with the accents.

**SOUNDTRACK FOR THIS CHAPTER**: 'Leaving on a Jetplane' by John Denver and 'A Pistol for Paddy Garcia' by The Pogues. You should be able to find them on Youtube, iTunes, etc.

I'm pretty sure that's everything, so I'll stop this infernally long author's not and leave you to the story. Enjoy!

* * *

It was raining when the plane landed.

It was almost tropical, this lushness, this green. Tropical without the heat, and the sweat, and the danger. It was a melancholy wetness, like running through the rain to escape, not running into a Hollywood kiss. Like _Wuthering Heights_, not _Pride and Prejudice_. Like the start of a shower, not the end of it. It was sad, and it was beautiful, and it was green.

The town Sarah's mother lived in was tiny, more like a village, with one inn and one corner shop and not much else. It was an hour's drive to anywhere larger, down narrow roads with emerald hills on either side. The only thing which stopped the village from being anything more than a pile of stones in a valley was the manor house, left over from another time, big and sprawling and possessing of a sort of homely neglect rarely found in large houses. It sat above the village like a beloved and slightly mad aunt or an older brother, warm and protective.

For Sarah, the town inexplicably felt like home.

She had moved to Ireland with her mother, away from the home she had always known. She didn't belong there; Karen and Toby and her father were the perfect nuclear family, and although she had stopped being a brat and grown up years ago, she still didn't really fit. So now she was here, in a tiny Irish town with her mother the retired actress, sitting at a desk in a tiny attic room, writing stories and gazing out at impossibly green hills.

She had made a friend quickly, the only other eighteen-year-old girl for miles, and she lived right next door. Her name was Meg, and she was petite, with large, unblinking eyes and frizzy blonde hair. She was cheerful, enthusiastic almost to a fault, and reminded Sarah of nothing other than a marmoset. Together, they talked about movies and popular music and the things Sarah had left behind in the suburbs of England. They went for walks on the hills surrounding the town, sometimes pretending to look for fairy rings and leprechaun gold and all the things Sarah had believed in as a child.

They were on one of their walks, wandering down an overgrown road where bracken poked up from ancient cobblestones, when they met an old woman going in the opposite direction. She was riding a bicycle laden about with packages, and had a shock of steely grey, flyaway hair. There was nothing out of the ordinary in her immediate appearance, though she had an air of being not entirely who she appeared to be. She waved as she came towards the girls, braking gently as they stopped to greet her.

"Lovely day for it!" She commented brightly, indicating the beautiful landscape with a sweeping gesture, lit by a few golden rays of light. Her accent was so strong Sarah almost had trouble understanding her.

"It surely is!" Meg replied cheerily, grinning widely.

"And what are you young ladies up to?" The woman asked them with a conspiratorial wink.

"Looking for a pot of gold." Meg replied, smirking.

"Ah, well, if it's faery magic you're after, I have just the thing…" The woman began rummaging through her many bags, eventually pulling out a fat medallion on a leather cord, decorated with knot work and bearing an image of an old man's wizened face. "This will grant you any wish. It's yours for a euro."

"Not a silver thruppence?" Sarah asked sarcastically, before Meg elbowed her painfully in the ribs.

"You got any coins, Sarah?" Meg was rummaging in her pockets.

"Yeah, hold on…" Together, they managed to scrounge a euro, and Meg hung the medallion triumphantly around her neck.

"You ladies be careful now." The woman told them warmly, though with a note of sternness in her tone. "Since you paid for it together, the wish will work for both of you, but you can only make the one."

"How does it work?" Meg asked, holding it up to her face, eyes wider than ever.

"It binds you to a magical creature with wish-granting abilities. A portune, or something like that." The woman settled herself onto her bike, getting ready to push off. "Whichever creature's nearest will be bound to grant the wish and protect you for the wish's duration."

"Um, I'm not sure about this…" Sarah hissed urgently to Meg. She remembered all too well what it was like to be bound in a contract with a magical being, and it wasn't something she wished to repeat.

"Well, good luck!" The woman waved to them, then pushed off and began pedalling away from them.

"Bye!" Meg waved back, then turned to Sarah. "Come on, Sarah. We're just helping her make a little money. Don't tell me you think it'll actually work?"

"You're the Irish one; aren't you supposed to be telling me stories about brownies and banshees and whatever?" Sarah glanced back at the woman on the bicycle; the road stretched straight behind them, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"I do believe that is racial stereotyping." Meg sniffed, stroking the medallion distractedly with her thumb. "Now, what should we wish for?"

"I thought you said you didn't believe in magic?" Sarah sneered.

"That… is next to the point." She twisted up her face in an expression which only through careful study had Sarah learnt meant she was concentrating, and not, whatever it may appear, experiencing stomach pains. "We paid for it, we may as well see if it works."

"Oh, alright." Sarah sighed. "But trust me, making wishes is a dangerous business."

"Stuff and nonsense." Meg's face brightened. "Aha!"

"Oh dear."

"I wish we could live in our favourite novels!" Meg said excitedly.

"Aren't you supposed to consult me first?" Sarah said grumpily as her friend looked around eagerly.

"Ooh, the sky is melting…"

"I beg your pardon?"

Sarah looked up and let out a gasp; the clouds did indeed look as though they were melting, running together into long, dripping rivulets of black ink, which swirled and ran together and stretched into words. All around them, the green hills were melting away, turning into words which swirled around them like a spidery tornado. Then the black ink separated into a flurry of colours, all of which flew outwards and began merging into new shapes, a new landscape, a new sky.

In the barest of breaths, the thrum of a hummingbird's heart, Ireland was gone, and Meg and Sarah stood somewhere entirely new.

In the manor house which overlooked the tiny Irish village where Sarah and Meg lived, there was a man, or close enough. He was reclining upon a chaise in the only way he knew, which was elegantly. There was a roaring fire in front of him, a Persian rug on the floor beneath him and a mahogany bookshelf filled with beautifully leather-bound tomes behind him. He was clad in a quilted dressing gown or finest burgundy velvet, his name monogrammed in the finest gold thread on the breast. He was wildly handsome, with meticulously untamed hair and a predatory smile, possessive of a grace even the finest of mortal men could never even dream of.

The human world suited Jareth.

Despite his crushing defeat and the loss of his kingdom at the hands of an annoyingly pretty child, he was feeling good about himself. Ireland was one of the few places in the world which still held magic, and he was able to enjoy the full extent of his magical powers here without the pesky addition of governing a kingdom full of half-wits. There were no chickens, no saucepan hats and no screaming children in his new home. The hills were green and the soil was rich and the few women he met appreciated a man in leather trousers. _Unlike some_.

He had even _almost_ succeeded in forgetting about that impudent brat with the beguiling eyes who had lost him his Kingship. Indeed, on the few occasions he _did_ think about her (read: on the few occasions he thought about her without feeling the need to watch _The Notebook_ and eat copious amounts of chocolate ice-cream), he was of half a mind that he should _thank_ her, Heaven forbid they ever cross paths again. After all, now he had no responsibilities other than to himself, which was the way he had always wanted it, really.

He was just settling in for another night of dozing peacefully by the fire with a book of human folktales (read: history books), a pair of fuzzy slippers on his feet which were most certainly _not_ bunny rabbits, thankyou very much, and his dressing gown wrapped snugly around him. He had had a glass of rather excellent brandy and a fine supper cooked by entirely non-goblin hands, and was feeling very pleased with himself. He felt he could even have maintained a conversation with Sarah without having a tantrum and demanding she give him his dignity back.

And then the Binding came.


	2. Every Breath You Take

Ok, just wrote this bit, and then blahblahevilcomputer stuff happened... ANYWAY, next chapter! Here, we see Meg being hopeless, Sarah being Unimpressed, Jareth being surly and Edward Sparklepants Cullen being Edward Sparklepants Cullen.

Yes, I am critical of Twilight. I loved it once, but no more. i won't go into detail as to why, as I don't have enough time and I'm sure you don't really care. Also, they will probably return to the Twilight universe in later chapters, just because it is fun.

Your soundtrack for this chapter is 'Every Breath You Take' by The Police, the perfect Edward song due to its seemingly sweetness but actual creepystalkerness. Keep sending me with suggestions for songs to use in later chapters. Remember, the tackier and more sparkly, the better!

I own nothing, nothing, tra la la. I used, like, one line from the Twilight text, but then couldn't be bothered sifting through the angst/ nauseating descriptions for any more.

Reviews motivate me to update faster! :P

* * *

They were on the edge of a forest, dripping and green. The bark was as green as the leaves, and even the weak light filtering through the canopy had a greenish quality. In front of them was _a_ _small meadow, or was it actually a lawn?_ Six enormous cedar trees cast a protective shade over the cleared area, right up to the walls of a beautiful, hundred-year-old house, painted a soft white and surrounded by a deep porch. The setting was beautifully serene, the grey sky overhead lending a calm, natural quality to the scene.

"Ohmigodomigodomigod!" Meg squealed shrilly in Sarah's ear. "We're here, we're here, it actually worked!"

Sarah winced, sticking a finger in her ear in an attempt to stop it from ringing. "And where is here, exactly?"

"_Here_, Sarah!" Meg pointed at the house. "The Cullens's house!"

Sarah looked up at the three-story building, realisation dawning. "Oh dear Lord, no…"

"I wonder if he's home…" Meg was craning her neck eagerly in an attempt to see inside the large, glass windows.

"Meg, if you go ga-ga on me, I swear I will leave you right here to be ripped apart by the vampire hordes."

"They're _vegetarian_, Sarah." Meg told her in the manner of a teacher admonishing a particularly slow child. "Honestly, didn't you _read_ Twilight? They don't eat _people_."

"Yes, instead they eat mountain lions, grizzly bears and various endangered animals." Sarah rolled her eyes. "I bet the environmentalists _love_ that."

"Well, what do you expect?" Meg snapped, hands on her hips. "Poor Edward has to go through an immense moral struggle about the ethicality of his existence. You can cut him a little slack, surely!"

"Oh, yes, intense moral struggle, right." Sarah unzipped her jacket gleefully, revealing a T-shirt reading 'real men don't sparkle'. She had bought it for the sole purpose of annoying Meg (and perhaps a figure from her past she did her best to forget about), and was very pleased she had chosen to wear it on that particular day. "Shall we say hello?"

"I don't think that's wise." A velvety voice drawled from the trees behind them.

Meg and Sarah spun around as a man, or close enough, stepped out from between the trunks of two moss-covered trees. He was wildly handsome, with a mane of star-kissed hair and a cloak of midnight-coloured velvet. His chest and legs were encased in bejewelled, black leather, black boots on his feet and black, leather gloves on his hands. An easy smirk was on his features, but it dropped as he saw Sarah.

"_You_." Sarah and Jareth gasped as one.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Sarah demanded angrily, as Meg looked from one of them to the other, expression confused.

"_Me_?" Jareth spluttered with a flamboyant hand gesture. "_You're_ supposed to be in England!"

"Well _you're_ supposed to be off in some fantasy land!" Sarah spat, flinging her hands around in emphasis.

"In case you've forgotten, _precious_, you destroyed my little kingdom on your last visit." Jareth replied wryly, a bitter smirk twisting his handsome features.

"Oh, did I?" Sarah said sarcastically, crossing her arms. "How careless of me."

"Careless indeed, you impudent brat." Jareth muttered darkly. "And I happen to find that shirt offensive, by the way."

"Good." Sarah crossed her arms tighter underneath her breasts, smirking as the motion gave the words emblazoned on her chest extra emphasis. "Because I've taken it on board as my own personal philosophy."

"I will forgive that, because clearly you were too young when you Ran my Labyrinth to fully appreciate my, er, _masculinity_," Jareth smirked lasciviously on the last word, "but I think you should have learned better by now."

"Oh? And how do you figure that?" Sarah sneered, raising an eyebrow.

In response, Jareth merely flung his cloak back over his shoulders, rotating his pelvis forwards a little and placing his hands on his hips. In that position, his, er, _masculinity_ was _quite_ apparent.

"Ok, this is _so_ not canon." Meg interrupted their argument, still looking terribly perplexed.

"Yes, which is why Jareth's going to run along now." Sarah made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

"Unfortunately, I am not." Jareth sighed, looking very much upset at the prospect of having to stick around any further. "You made the wish, and now I'm bound to fulfil it, watch over you, protect you, tralala."

"Wonderful." Sarah sighed, looking momentarily deflated.

"Um, anyone going to clue me in?" Meg ventured, putting up a timid hand.

"Look, he sparkles." Sarah grabbed Jareth by the arm, pulling him forcefully into a ray of sunlight which had just broken through the clouds. The light danced from his skin and clothes, sparkling in a most alarming –and intoxicating- manner.

"Ooh…" Meg stared at Jareth, wide-eyed, mouth hanging open.

"I would ask you not to man-handle me, Miss Williams." Jareth huffed, brushing off his sleeve in a manner reflective of affectation.

"Bite me, bite me!" Meg squealed, jumping forwards and grabbing Jareth by the front of his cloak.

"I beg your pardon?" Jareth asked in alarm, looking up at Sarah with a desperate expression. "Sarah, is your friend quite alright?"

Sarah laughed, leaning back against a tree to support herself as Meg tried to make her throat look more alluring (read: shoved her neck in Jareth's face).

"Can I help you?" A handsome, lanky boy of about seventeen stood before them, having obviously just come from the direction of the house. His expression was wary beneath his untidy, bronze-coloured hair, his posture aggressive.

"Omigod…" Meg's jaw dropped and she pushed Jareth away, causing him to stumble and almost trip over his long cloak. "You're _him_."

"How do you know who I am?" Edward frowned, handsome brow furrowing. "How do you know_ what_ I am?"

"Eeh, you're reading my mind!" Meg jumped up and down as though nothing gave her greater pleasure. "Ooh, ooh, what am I think right now?" She screwed up her face in concentration.

"I'd… rather not say." Edward mumbled, expression one of shocked revulsion.

Sarah smirked; she could just imagine the fiery blush that would be lighting Edward's face like a beacon, should he still be human. She had had one conversation too many with Meg about exactly what her friend would like to do with Edward should she ever get her hands on him, and the thought still made her feel mildly nauseous.

"You minx, you!" Meg laughed sycophantically, slapping Edward on the chest in an overly familiar gesture.

"I really think you should leave." Edward said forcefully, pushing her hand delicately away.

"But we are destined to be together!" Meg gasped, eyes wide. "Look, don't I smell pretty?"

She pulled down the collar of her shirt, exposing her creamy throat and making wafting gestures in Edward's direction. Sarah buried her face in her hands.

"You… do smell nice." Edward conceded, a hungry look in his eyes.

"Aren't you supposed to step in here?" Sarah turned to Jareth, pointing at the scene in front of them.

"Hm?" Jareth looked up from where he'd been examining the back of his glove. "Oh, no, not at all. Only if she's in immediate danger."

"His _is_ a vampire." Sarah pointed out as Edward leaned closer to her friend, eyes dark with hunger.

"Is he?" Jareth frowned. "Are you quite certain?"

"Well, no, but that's what he's _supposed_ to be." Sarah admitted begrudgingly.

"Hm… I thought he was an especially gloomy Ken doll." Jareth strode over to where the young man stood, folding him arms and drawing about himself an aura of dark authority. "I suggest you leave to girl alone, boy."

"Do you now?" Edward looked up, lip curled in a sneer.

"You're a romantic hero." Jareth said calmly, eyes flashing with dark power. "I'm a fantasy villain. You woo the girls; _I_ corrupt them."

"Of course you do." Sarah snorted in sarcastic disbelief.

"You wanted me to help, precious thing." Jareth snapped at her, before turning back to Edward. "Leave the girl alone."

"No, don't!" Meg cried in protest. "Don't leave me alone, not ever!"

"I will stay with you always." Edward murmured softly, cupping her face in his palm. Her knees wobbled beneath her. "Even while you sleep."

"That's really creepy, you know." Sarah said, cocking her head as she looked at Edward, unimpressed.

"It's a romantic sign of my devotion." He snapped back, looking defensive.

"Pretty sure you're a creeper."

Edward snarled, leaping at Sarah. In a flash, Jareth was in front of her, snapping his palm and sending Edward flying into one of the trees. It snapped clean in two, falling on top of Edward.

"Nooo!" Meg squealed, jumping up and down as she tried to see what had happened to the sparkly teenager.

"Thanks." Sarah muttered to Jareth, barely keeping the tremor out of her voice.

"I'm not always the villain, precious thing." Jareth purred, smiling softly at her.

"Funny, I thought you saved me because you're bound to me by a magical contract and have to protect me no matter what." Sarah raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Have it your way." Jareth scowled, striding over to where Edward had fallen.

"Had enough, boy?" Jareth stood over Edward, smirking as he struggled to his feet.

"I'm over a century old, you know." Edward grumbled, pulling twigs from his hair.

"I'm four-hundred and seven." Jareth replied dryly. "You're outmatched, old chap."

"Are you okay?" Meg squealed, throwing her arms around Edward's neck.

Edward gave Jareth a long, calculating look, before gently prying Meg off of himself. Her face fell as he stepped back, a look of resigned determination on his face.

"We can't." He told her, adopting a tortured tone. "I'm not good for you, Meg."

"Oh, Edward, I don't care!" She cried theatrically, almost punching herself in the face as she threw a hand to her brow. "I don't care if you're a vampire! I love you!"

"I couldn't live with myself if I hurt you." He turned away, expression haunted. "It's best if we never see each other again."

"Oh, Edward…" Meg gave a dramatic sob before falling to the ground. "It's alright, I understand. It's for the best… oh, but Edward, how I wish we could be together!"

"I wish for nothing more, my love, but it cannot be!" Edward leaned dramatically against a tree trunk. "Just… just go."

Meg stood and walked over to him, brushing her lips momentarily against his cheek. His expression twisted, as though he was in immense pain, and then he disappeared into the trees. Meg turned back to Jareth and Sarah, both of whom had been watching the scene with great bemusement.

"Well, that was fun!" Meg said brightly. "What's next?"

"You are _completely_ mental." Sarah sighed heavily, shaking her head in despair.

"Whatever." Meg waved her hand dismissively. "It's your turn now."

Jareth stared in complete bafflement at the blonde teenager as she flounced over to Sarah, pulling the medallion from her shirt. She grabbed Sarah's hand, their heads bending low over the metal disk as the sky slowly began to melt again.

"Hey, um, Jareth?" Edward poked his head out from between the disappearing trees.

"What?" Jareth asked irritably, trying to focus on the spell.

"The brunette? Sarah?" Edward smiled lopsidedly. "She digs you."

Jareth grinned triumphantly as the teenage vampire disappeared in a swirl of ink.


	3. Wenches and Mead

Hullooo! Today, boys and girls (I'm assuming mostly girls), we move from the world of Twilight into the world of Really Bad Romance Novels! Yaaaaay! Because Sarah has to get her fix of leather pants somehow... I don't actually read romance novels, but I know the general gist of them. I also have no doubt that when I am a cat lady, with my collection of Victorian mustache-friendly teacups, I shall amass a vast collection of romance novels. And maybe the Holy Grail (ten points and story input to anyone who gets that reference).

I think I shall use the term 'randy strumpet' quite often. I have no idea what it means (well, technically I do, but you get me, right?), but it does sound so very wonderful.

A bit of a cliffhanger ending on this one, but never fear, I will eventually get around to writing the next chapter (I _am _making this up as I go along, you know). All shall be sorted out eventually, whether it takes me five chapters or fifty...

Song for this chapter is 'Wenches and Mead' by Alestorm. Epic win. I really need those bad song suggestions, guys!

I own nothing. Continue reading if you are unsure as to why.

* * *

Sarah and Meg staggered as the ground lurched beneath them, clutching desperately at a railing which had just materialised behind them. Sarah looked over the railing, eyes wide; beneath them were rolling waves and salty spray, an ocean the colour of turquoise. She gasped, but breath came only with great difficulty.

"Sarah, you randy strumpet, you!" Meg giggled, leaning casually against the railing.

Her T-shirt, jacket and jeans had changed into a hundred-odd layers of petticoats and an obscenely tight bodice. Sarah looked down at herself; she, too, had changed into a red, movement-restricting dress, her waist tight-laced into oblivion and her breasts heaving in a most embarrassing manner.

"I certainly don't remember _that_ in my book." Jareth commented dryly, staring at Sarah's chest with a raised eyebrow.

"Pervert." Sarah tried in vain to cover herself up.

"What do we have here, then?" A voice, deep, gravely and seductive, boomed from behind them.

A man, an Adonis, a Greek god stood before them. Long, black hair flowed down his broad shoulders, muscles bulged under his open-chested white shirt, and a pair of leather pants clung to his legs in such a manner as to leave virtually nothing to the imagination. His face looked as though it was carved by a true genius, with high cheekbones, strong brows, a straight, noble nose, full lips and brooding, crystalline blue eyes framed by dark lashes. A sword hung from a belt at his waist.

"Gaaah…" Meg's chin dropped, her eyes wider than ever before.

"Hnnnrk…" Sarah concurred.

"Now, he was _definitely_ not in my book." Jareth muttered sourly, crossing his arms.

"What be the meanin' of yer presence on me ship, ye buxom wenches?" The Adonis demanded in his gravely song of a voice.

"Heeheeheehee…" Meg giggled, twirling a curl of hair around her finger.

"Be ye daft, lass?" He asked, raising a perfect eyebrow.

"I do believe she is." Jareth drawled, now glaring bitterly at the Adonis's trousers.

"And who may ye be?" He demanded, turning his attention from the temporarily speechless young women.

"I am Jareth the Goblin King, Supreme Ruler of the Underground, Villain of the Labyrinth, Lord of the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, Member of the High Court of the Fae and Owner of The Area." Jareth replied, drawing himself up to his full height. "You _should _know who I am, even if this _is_ clearly a revised addition."

"It's not." Sarah interjected, coming to her senses now she was no longer the recipient of the Adonis's full attention. "He doesn't know who you are because this isn't your book. And you're not Goblin King anymore, either, remember?"

Jareth looked at Sarah as though she had just declared she planned to go to Mars in a spaceship made of cheese.

"Sorry, Jareth."

"Not my- but- you- my book-" Jareth spluttered, still obviously confused.

"I moved on from that _years _ago." Sarah waved her hand dismissively.

"Ahem." The Adonis cleared his throat impatiently. "Ye still have not answered me question, 'Your Majesty'." He put a sarcastic emphasis on Jareth's former title.

"Ooh, ooh, pick me!" Meg stumbled forward eagerly, before dramatically swooning. "Ooooh, it was terrible! We were set upon by a crew of dastardly pirates, who killed our husbands and left us with nought but the clothes on our back and our faithful eunuch! We clambered aboard your ship, hoping above hope that you would not send us to the depths below!" She finished dramatically, a fluttering hand to her brow.

"Your faithful _what_?" Jareth spluttered, face blackening with anger, before turning on Sarah. "This isn't funny!"

"You're right." Sarah sobered up for a moment, before exploding into another fit of giggles. "It's hilarious! Oh God it hurts to breathe…"

"Well, we won't be sendin' ye to the depths," The Adonis assured Meg with a smirk, "but we _will_ be holdin' ye hostage."

"Ooh, how exciting!" Meg squealed happily as he motioned to one of his gorgeous, muscular crewman.

The crewman produced a rope, indicating to the three to stand by the mast.

"Um, Jareth, isn't this where you're supposed to step in?" Sarah hissed as they were shepherded over.

"I think being tied up for a while will do you some good." Jareth huffed, arms crossed tightly across his chest. "Let's see how you manage on your own for a while, 'O' Champion." With that, he disappeared in a shower of glitter.

"Hey, where'd he go?" A crewman yelled, glancing about wildly.

"Thrown himself to the depths!" Meg wailed, winking at her companion. "Oh, he simply couldn't bear to see us held captive and indescribably violated!"

Sarah shook her head in disgust; Meg really should look a little less enthusiastic at the thought of indescribable violation.

"His sacrifice shall not save you!" The Adonis cried triumphantly as the crewman lashed Sarah and Meg to the mast, leering at them all the while. "Ye be our captives now, and ye shall do as we say!"

"Stop enjoying yourself so much." Sarah muttered to Meg, who was gasping in a most theatrical manner as the Adonis strode over to them.

"I think I may have some _fun_ with ye." He growled at Sarah, leering most obviously at her chest. "Ye be the most buxom of wenches."

"Hnnrk…" Sarah replied articulately, sharp tongue getting somewhat lost among such an overwhelming swarm of hormones that she was almost glad for the ropes supporting her.

The Adonis turned, addressing his crew with open arms. Meg stared dutifully at his leather-clad backside.

"Tonight, we drink deep!" The crew cheered. "And tomorrow, we set sail to take these wenches to port and ransom them!"

He turned back to Sarah, stroking her cheek with an elegant finger and smirking lasciviously.

"You, however, I may decide to keep."

The crew began to disappear below deck, leaving Meg and Sarah lashed to the mast. Sarah's legs felt weak beneath her, her mind struggling to operate beneath the hormone-fog. The only though which really made it through was that, tight though the Adonis's trousers were, what Jareth's held gave the appearance of being much more impressive.

"Wow, you really picked a good one!" Meg chirped happily beside her.


	4. Total Eclipse of the Heart

In which the author reveals the danger of not planning the narrative AT ALL, or in which the best review I could possibly hope for is 'WTF?'

Ok, so first part of this chapter consists of me being a little mean to Jareth and earning myself a Bogging, and the second part consists of... well, we're losing the original plot ('There was a plot?' I hear you most rightly say), and moving into strange new worlds of communism and Sauron-inspired architecture.

Those of you who have read 'Into My Arms' will recognise Hig. Those of you who haven't may want to read it, if only to understand his character a little better. It's the same story I re-used Meg from, because I am sadly unoriginal and incapable of creating new characters. I promise he shall get a truly wonderful new hat.

The next few chapters are probably going to be jumping back and forth between Sarah and Jareth, but I promise they shall all get back together... eventually.

The song for the first part of this chapter is Bonnie Tyler's 'Total Eclipse of the Heart', a song I love for its sheer terribleness. Plus, she has the same first name as me (except she spells it wrong). It was planned for this fic from the beginning. The song for part two is... I don't know. Something Stalin would have listened to, I guess. Any suggestions?

PLEASE, REMEMBER TO TELL ME SONG SUGGESTIONS. THEY WILL ASSIST IN GIVING THIS STORY A DIRECTION THAT IS NOT _COMPLETELY_ **WEIRD**.

If you haven't figured out that I don't own this by now, then you've got a lot of catching up to do...

* * *

Jareth sat perched on the edge of his chaise lounge, doing his best impression of a particularly irate gargoyle. His brows were drawn down low over his eyes, mouth turned down in a scowl so deep it surely must have been carved in stone. Dripping slowly into the expensive rugs were the last few drops of several very expensive bottles of brandy, lying on their side around the feet of the chaise.

He had been replaced by a _romance novel_.

The drinking of the brandy had coincided with several bouts of pacing, kicking of things followed by hopping around on one foot and swearing colourfully, and several slurring renditions of Bonnie Tyler's 'Total Eclipse of the Heart'. The corners of the room still shivered with the memory of Jareth yelling 'tuuuuurn arooouuund, briiight eeeeeyyyyyeeesssssssssss' to a rather startled lampshade. It was, all in all, a rather alarming and indecent display of most unbecoming emotion for the usually suave (ex)Goblin King, which he was now attempting to make up for by looking brooding and intense.

She had destroyed his kingdom, lost him his kingship, humiliated him, defeated him at every turn, and yet he still felt an underlying (read: deep, intrinsic, somewhat pathetic) affection for her, his reason being that she had been just a girl, a mere child, unaware of what she was capable of.

Now, however, she was practically a grown woman. She was intelligent, mature, and half a foot taller. She had also filled out most pleasantly in all the best places. She was everything Jareth had hoped, everything Jareth had _known_ she would become, and he had quite selfishly entertained thoughts of her running into his arms the first instant she saw him (alright, now that he admitted it, yes, he did think about her a lot more than was probably deemed appropriate, but there wasn't an awful lot else to do no that he was no longer in possession of a Bog).

Hm… _Bog_. That gave Jareth an idea.

Clearly, Sarah's taste had matured. She would no longer be dazzled by a poofy dress and an Escher Room. She wanted to Swashbuckle, perish the thought, and she clearly wanted to do it with a dashing gentleman at her side. Well, he could more than deliver on that account. And it had been a _terribly_ long time since he had visited his former Kingdom.

Jareth unfolded himself slowly, elegantly, like the petals of a flower opening up to the suns rays (only much more dashing and masculine, he thought firmly). He staggered slightly, the effects of all the brandy, and pitched forward through an alcohol cloud into nothingness and glitter.

Things had changed in the Underground. Things had changed a lot.

For a start, the castle had been replaced by thirty-story high monolith of black marble, topped by an eight-foot high statue of a stout dwarf-goblin with a round nose and protuberant belly. The structure cast a long, black shadow of the Goblin City. Enormous stone chicken statues guarded the tower's door. The words 'All are equal in the eyes of Hig' were emblazoned in twenty-foot letters on the monolith's side.

Jareth stared up at the marble creation with drunken bemusement. He may have been a little over the top, what with the glitter and the costume changes and the Escher Room, but _this_… This was just ridiculous.

"King?" A goblin was poking its head timidly through a doorway, eyes darting nervously from side to side.

"Not anymore, 'm 'fraid." Jareth slurred.

"Have you come to save us, Not King?" The goblin squeaked, voice a terrified whisper.

"What a prep- propos- don't be silly." The King frowned. "What under earth would I want to do that for?"

The little goblin pouted, eyes brimming with tears. He looked fearfully up at the tower, pointing towards the statue on top.

"Please Not King, you must help us!" He whispered. "Save us from the terrible Hig!"

Jareth sighed, rubbing his temples. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he used his powers to remove the alcohol fuzz from his brain, as well as the consequential hangover. This was _not_ the reason why he had come here.

"Alright, tell me about this Hig chap who's running my Kingdom into the ground."

"Oh, it's not a kingdom no more, Not King." The goblin squeaked. "This is the People's Democratic Republic of Chicken."

"What?" Jareth blinked at his little former subject. "Right. I'd better come inside."

Still glancing nervously up and down the street, the little goblin ushered Jareth inside.


	5. Revolution

COMMUNISM.

Huzzah.

Yet more proof that not planning one's story leads to strange and dark places... This is what happens when you DON'T SUGGEST SONGS FOR ME.

Thus, **I SHALL NOT BE POSTING ANY MORE UNTIL I GET AT LEAST THREE SONG SUGGESTIONS**. This isn't a review grab; I need them to give the narrative direction. The contents of my iTunes and Google will only get me so far (why is 'We Built This City' on all the bad song lists? I love that song. Does that make me a bad person?). Remember folks, if I use a song you suggest, you get input into the story. Also, special prizes (ie. story input) to the person who can best complete this sentence: "In communist Underground..." So go forth and find the really terrible songs that have a special place in your heart! For Narnia! (or Underground. Or whatever.)

I don't own Labyrinth, chickens, a big tower, a bird cage crown, or communism.

I promise we get back to Sarah in the next chapter. Romance and leather trousers shall abound.

* * *

Jareth took up most of the space in the tiny room, his wild hair at serious risk of being flattened by the low ceiling. The rest of the room was taken up by a gaggle of goblins, all staring up at their former king with nervous awe.

"Alright then, chaps." Jareth drew himself up as best he could, folding his arms regally across his chest. "Why don't you tell me what's been happening since I vacated my throne?"

One of the goblins shuffled forwards until he was close enough to fog up Jareth's boots with his breath.

"After you were fired-"

"Forcefully abdicated."

"Right. After you were forcefully abacus, we were left all alone to run the Labyrinth." The goblins all assumed a wistful look, as though remembering times of blissful happiness. "There were no Boggings unless we wanted to, no oubly-wotsits, chickens everywhere…"

"Get to the point, please." Jareth sighed.

"Oh, ah…" The goblin scratched his ear thoughtfully, then appeared to come back to the present. "Yes, well, we had a very good run of things, but then Hig decided…"

"Yes?"

"Well, he said we couldn't keep runnin' wild and living in a state of… um…" The goblin looked confused.

"Anarchy?" Jareth offered wearily.

"Maybe."

"Alpaca." Another goblin said wisely. Jareth rolled his eyes.

"Right, well, he said we couldn't go on living in a state of alpaca and we had to form a proper governin' body." The goblin said, heartily resuming his narrative. "And I said that chicken bodies were much nicer than any silly old governy things, an' he told me I only thought that because I wasn't properly educated. So then he said he'd been readin' some Aboveground book 'bout communism, and he thought that was the best way of us goin' about things."

"The Underground is being ruled by a communist." Jareth stated blankly.

"Yes."

"A communist dwarf."

"He's half goblin!" The goblin replied indignantly.

"But not the good half." Another grumbled.

"I leave you alone for five minutes and all of a sudden I'm being replaced by Karl Marx…" Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose, disbelief steadily encroaching upon his sense of reality. "This day-"

"Please, Un-King, you have to save us!" A vaguely female goblin tugged on the leg of Jareth's trousers. "I was happy being a goblin, I don't wanna be a pro- a prog- a prolly-"

"A proletariat." Jareth finished automatically.

"That one."

"Do you have a plan?" Jareth asked, not even bothering to hope.

"Well, see, we get a chicken…" One of the goblins began, then looked expectantly up at Jareth.

"Yes?"

"That's it."

"That's not a plan, that's a-" Jareth began, then, realising the futility of trying to explain the concept of plans to a race of semi-intelligent beings, promptly changed tactics. "Alright. We can work with that. Now, here's what we're going to do…"

Half an hour later, Jareth stood at the base of the tower, surrounded by a small army of townsgoblins, chickens and the odd Labyrinth creature. Even the tower's chicken guards now stood behind him, scratching for worms in a highly threatening manner.

Yawning casually, Jareth rapped his leather-clad knuckles against the heavy door. With an ominous sound, the doors swung open.

"Yes?" A tiny goblin holding a disproportionately long spear stood in the doorway, gazing up at Jareth from beneath a rusty helmet.

"Boo."

The goblin squealed shrilly, throwing the spear to the ground and running back up the hallway. Jareth casually picked up the spear, smirking triumphantly as delicate, silver filigree wound from his palm and around the spear handle, the spearhead turning to brilliant diamond.

"Off you go, then." Jareth indicated to his little army with a flick of wrist, watching with a bored expression as they stormed the tower.

Jareth strolled casually after them, making his way up the spiral staircase as though he had all the time in the world (which, due to being able to re-order time, he probably technically did). The tower was remarkably well constructed; Jareth decided he vastly preferred it to his castle, and if he was ever re-instated, he would definitely have the goblins build him a new one.

Eventually, he emerged in the throne room. The walls glittered blackly, a throne of white marble rising from the ebony floor like a monster from the deep. Sitting on the throne, far too small for its majestic size, was the goblin depicted in the statue on the tower's top. Perched precariously on his head was what appeared to be a number of purple, velvet cushions encased in a gold-spray-painted birdcage, a sequin-covered basketball on top, all tenuously secured around Hig's chin with a particularly hideous tartan ribbon.

"_You're_ Hig?" Jareth snorted derisively.

"I am Comrade Hig." The dwarf-goblin confirmed self-importantly.

"What _is_ that plastic thing on your head?" Jareth asked, repressing a bark of horrified laughter.

"It's not plastic!" Hig squealed indignantly. "It's a crown, made from precious metals and forged by the finest blacksmiths in all the kingdoms!"

"It has a basketball on top."

"What's your point?" Hig scowled defensively.

"You're being forcefully abdicated, old chap."

"I'm being what?"

"You're fired."

Jareth's goblin army surged (or rather, trickled in an absent-minded manner, as they thoughtfully checked out the décor) up the stairway behind him, picking Hig up on their shoulders and carrying him, kicking and screaming, back towards the direction of the stairs.

"Wait." Jareth held up a hand. He strode towards the incensed dwarf-goblin and, with a grin that displayed the full extent of his villainous prowess, snatched the 'crown' from Hig's head.

"Bog him."

A cheer went up, and Hig disappeared from sight among the crowd. Jareth sat triumphantly in the marble throne, looking for all the world as though he truly belonged there. He beckoned to some of the few remaining goblins, smiling languidly.

"Now, little goblins, _you're _going to do something for _me_."


	6. Leather Trousers Make the World Go Round

And now back to our regularly scheduled story.

I do apologise for the last two chapters, I really don't know what happened there... :/ I also apologise for the long wait for this next chapter, I've been very busy writing a comic book script, which I have decided is quite rubbish, but I shall be sending off in the next week regardless.

ANYWAY, new chapter, and one which is what is technically known as 'quite silly'. I'm sure there may have been some semblance of logic and decent writing to this thing at some stage, but any of that is now gone. Le sigh... Ah, well. I'm having fun with it, and that's what counts.

The Norwegian accountant is again from 'Into My Arms'. Yes, I do enjoy ripping myself off, why do you ask?

Thankyou to all the people who submitted song ideas, I've got some great ones there. I can seriously keep this thing going forever as long as I've got songs (yes, run for the hills. I'm sure the idea of this going on any longer than strictly necessary has you terrified and hiding under your bed). Anyway, keep the ideas coming! And remember to also keep coming the 'In communist Underground...' ideas. It'sOnlyForever is winning thus far with 'In communist Underground, goblin bogs you'. So true...

The song for this chapter is Toxic by Britney Spears, as suggested by Suuki-Aldrea. Not because it has any relevance to the story, but because I have some highly amusing (and disturbingly arousing) images of Jareth in my head wearing the air hostess outfit Britney wears in the video. Yes? No? Disturbing...

Anyway, enjoy the ridiculousness, and don't forget to leave me a nice, juicy review!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Labyrinth or any trashy pirate romance novels. Nor do I own leather trousers or a pirate ship. Also, apology to any Norwegians, if you should take offense. It's unintentional, I promise.

* * *

Around an hour and a half ago Sarah had decided to follow Meg's lead and give in to her hormones. Any previous hints of level-headed resistance on her part had led to flexing, and her normally strong mind simply could not cope. Besides, she reasoned, things weren't so bad; being stuck on a ship with a hunky pirate was certainly better than sitting in her bedroom painting Meg's toenails.

The only thing that had kept her from completely falling into the captain's arms (apart, of course, from the rope holding her upright) was the niggling feeling at the back of her mind that she had forgotten someone very leather-clad and important. Meg was still beside her, and proving quite a hit with the burly blonde Norwegian who looked after the ship's accounts, but Sarah was sure that wasn't it.

Each time she thought she was getting close, however, the captain would 'drop' a gold piece in front of her, and all responsible thought trains were immediately banished in favour of pheromones and the embarrassing tendency to drool.

Right now, however, the captain was in his standoffish, 'dark and mysterious' mode, and was refusing to acknowledge Sarah's existence. This was making it a little easier for her to think clearly, especially as the captain was currently at the steering wheel, which was behind her, and therefore out of her line of vision.

"Leather trousers, leather trousers…" Sarah shook her head, trying to move out of the hormone fug and remember something of actual importance. "I'm _sure_ there was someone here a moment ago… someone important."

"Ooh…" Meg intoned (un)helpfully beside her, as the Norwegian accountant ripped open his shirt for no apparent reason.

"It is easiest to count money ven there is a breeze on my enormous pecs." The Norwegian explained.

"I see." Meg nodded enthusiastically, eyes wide. "Very helpful."

Sarah clenched her eyes shut in an attempt to blind herself to the Scandinavian goodness.

"Leather trousers. Blonde hair." She clenched her teeth concentrating as hard as she could. "Yes, that's it! We're here because of-"

"Greetings, fair wench." The captain purred, stroking her cheek with his finger.

"Damn!" Sarah hissed, the memory lost.

"Ye be enjoyin' yourself, I trust?" The captain grinned.

"In so far as I can while tied up." Sarah snapped, irritation allowing her a temporary reprieve from the captain's spell.

"Tut, tut, precious." The captain pouted, waggling a finger at her. "Ye don't want me to think you're not enjoyin' me hospitality, do you?"

Sarah shook her head, following the movement of the captain's finger. Something he had said, a word he had used, it seemed awfully familiar…

"Captain?" One of the crewmembers materialised beside them, tugging nervously on the captain's sleeve.

"What is it, ye bilge rat?" The captain snapped irritably.

"There be pirates!" The man cried.

"Pirates? Where?" The captain yelled, glancing around nervously.

"Um, aren't you meant to be a fearful _pirate_ captain?" Sarah pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, ah, yes, right. Ahem." The captain composed himself. "What be her colours?"

"Well, they're, ah… black, and ah, _sparkly_, cap'n." The crewman shuffled his feet nervously. "And, well, there appears to be a _chicken_ on it, sir."

"Wut." The captain stared blankly at the messenger.

"They be pointin' all their cannons at us, cap'n." The man pouted nervously. "There be many, many cannons."

"Alright." The captain nodded. "It's probably that fiend come to rescue the wenches."

Sarah's head snapped up. She had been listening intently, words of glitter and chickens making her mind churn. Who would come to rescue them? Who would come with a ship flying colours that were glittery and poultrified?

_Jareth_.

"How the bloody hell did I forget about Jareth?" Sarah shouted, making the captain jump.

"Quite simple, really." The Norwegian said, Meg hanging on his every word. "You knew him as a child, and so vere mostly immune to his charms due to your youth. You see him now, und your impression of him is coloured by your past experiences. Thus, you see another man in tight trousers, und your latent feelings for Jareth are projected onto this new man, making you 'forget' about Jareth vhile really seeing him in a new light through the lens of another."

Meg, Sarah, the captain and the crewman stared blankly at the Norwegian.

"Also, I haff enormous pecs." He added.

"I do not have 'latent feelings' for Jareth!" Sarah finally spluttered, glaring darkly at the man.

"I think you're missing the point." Meg informed her sagely.

"Oh, I'm sorry, why don't you explain to me what the point is?" Sarah snapped.

"I think the point was very clear." Meg sniffed, throwing her nose in the air.

"You didn't understand anything he said, did you?"

"Not the point, Sarah."

"Enough!" The captain yelled. "you shall be untied, and we shall show this 'Jareth' that it is now too late to save you!"

"I'm really not sure that it is." Sarah mumbled to herself as, with a single stroke of his sword, the captain cut the ropes binding her and Meg to the mast.

"Come, ye scurvy wenches!" He bellowed, sweeping Sarah up in his arms and carrying her bodily to the railing.

The contact caused Sarah to once again take temporary leave of her senses. They soon came back, however, as the attacking pirate ship came into view.

It was constructed from a bone-white timber, with magnificent gold filigree spidering across the railings and the stern. There were three masts, each hung with sails of a shimmering, black fabric. The figurehead was a fearsome looking dragon-goblin, teeth bared in a horrible grimace. Atop the highest mast whipped a sparkling ebony flag bearing an insignia that was, quite clearly, a sword-wielding chicken.

And there, on the ship's deck, clad in dastardly black leather, wearing a tricorn hat adorned with a magnificent, blood-red feather, was Jareth the Goblin King.


	7. In YOUR Endo

I'M NOT DEAD! Just busy/ lazy. And possibly suffering slight writer's block on this thing. Thankyou for your amazing patience, aka. not hunting me down and killing me for taking so long. There have been several occasions where I've opened the document, taken one look, maybe typed a word or so, and closed it again without saving anything. BUT, now I've got a nice long chapter for you, filled with goblins, pirates, meta-moments, almost-moments and a really, really terrible pun-type thing (which I had to Google for, by the way, so I can claim no credit for that particular nugget of innuendo). It gets weird. I'm sorry. I do love you, and I'm not (officially) insane, my brain is just a little dead and bizarre right now.

Thankyou for all the song suggestions. Keep 'em coming! This chapter I think is the I'm Too Sexy for my Shirt song, not because anyone actually suggested it, but because pretty much everyone in my family has been singing it a lot lately and I think it's very Jareth. If you have a song you think actually perfectly suits this chapter, let me know!

I own nothing. Especially not Google, an epic sword or the Twilight novella.

I'll understand if you don't review out of anger, impatience, or disgust and the terrible, terrible pun type-thing. I'll understand, but I'll still cry.

* * *

"What is the meaning of this?" The captain bellowed incredulously, as several savage-looking (read: squinting, stick-brandishing and attempts-at-scary-noise-making) goblins lined up on the obsidian ship's railing, ready to swing across on gossamer ropes.

"Through dangers untold, yadda yadda, to take back the wenches you have stolen." Jareth recited lazily, voice magically echoed until it boomed impressively all around them.

"You want them? Come and claim them!" The captain snarled in reply.

Jareth nodded his head at the goblins obligingly. They swang across the divide, and those that didn't get tangled in the ropes on the way across quickly set about attacking the pirate crew.

Ready to join the fray, the captain spun on his heel, only to find himself face-to-face with Jareth.

"Wh-" He fumbled for an instant, but quickly recovered, brandishing his sword aggressively. "Prepare to die, filthy bilge rat!"

"That's 'King', actually." Jareth replied dryly, dodging a swipe of the sword.

"You told me-" Sarah interjected, jumping backwards to avoid the path of a saucepan-wielding goblin.

"Yes, well, no thanks to you, I am now fully reinstated, thankyou very much. Full story later."

"Ye may be King, but ye'll still die like a man!" The captain swung again. Jareth stepped deftly out of the way and he went stumbling to the ground.

"Tut, tut. Your balance is very poor." Jareth watched the floundering captain with an expression of amused boredom. "And, technically, I won't."

"Won't what?"

"Die like a man."

"Ha!"

The captain stabbed upwards, sword piercing Jareth clean through the stomach.

Meg gasped and Sarah shrieked, hands flying to her mouth in horror. _Not Jareth. Not him._

Jareth's image swirled, like smoke, and disappeared. The captain glanced about in alarm, suddenly finding himself hauled up by the back of his shirt.

"Have to get up earlier in the morning, and all that." Jareth grinned, as the captain struggled wildly to free himself from the fae's clutches.

"Jareth!" Sarah cried joyously, starting forward, then stopped abruptly as Jareth turned to her, his expression a mixture of amusement and surprise.

"Were you concerned for my safety, precious thing? How touching." He purred.

"Ah, no, I just, ah…" Sarah shuffled her feet, glaring at the ground. "You're just, um, strangling the captain."

Jareth raised an eyebrow coolly, then looked back to the captain, who was, indeed, turning slightly blue. Jareth dropped him immediately and he fell to the ground, gasping for air.

"Hmph. Mortals." Jareth sniffed distractedly. "_I_ can breathe underwater."

"Ye black brigand!" The captain gasped, staggering to his feet. "What manner of beastie are ye?"

"There's been some debate about that, actually." Jareth casually removed a stick of dynamite from the hands of a passing goblin, pinching out the fuse. "The goblins have an awful lot of theories, the majority of which, insultingly –though not surprisingly- link to poultry."

The captain blinked in mild confusion, scratching his scalp.

"Come, Sarah, let us hasten back to your own dimension before one of the goblins blows us all up." Jareth extended a hand towards her.

"Ye'll not be takin' her!" The captain snarled, stepping protectively in front of the perplexed young woman. "I'll fight to the death to protect her from your evil clutches, or me name isn't-"

"Oh, no, please don't!" Sarah cried desperately.

"-Captain Hugh G. Rection!" He finished (sorry) triumphantly.

"Pardon?" Jareth snorted derisively, giving Sarah a look that was half amusement, half withering disbelief. "I know it's been impossible to find something as good as _my_ book, but that's just terrible, precious, it really is."

Sarah hung her head in righteous shame.

"There's nothing wrong with 'Hugh'! It's a good, strong name!" Captain Hugh interjected angrily, blissfully unaware of the pun. "Shut yer trap and fight me, lily-livered land lubber!"

"You'd think with pants that tight he'd be a_ little_ more self aware." Meg observed cheerfully.

"Your taste in literature really has grown appalling of late." Jareth shook his head.

"Shut up, ok?" Sarah pouted grumpily. "I never said I read it for the scintillating plot."

"Clearly." Meg agreed, watching as Captain Hugh flexed his muscles for no particular reason.

"Well? Will ye fight me or nay?" The captain interjected, clearly annoyed at the distractive conversation.

"I'll do you a deal." Jareth gestured at his marauding goblins with a lazy sweep of his arm. "I'll leave you with this lot, and if your men can't get a handle on them, I'll come back and we can have a little one-on-one."

"I'm afraid I don't swing that way, mate." The captain replied seriously. "You want the sequel for that."

Jareth stared at the captain, then down at the glitter on his clothes. His mouth took on a pinched appearance, a vein appearing in his forehead. He swung around, bearing darkly own upon Sarah.

"Please tell me this isn't the sequel." He choked out in a strangled whisper.

"Just a sec." Sarah ran hurriedly to the ship's side, leaning over the railing to read the name painted beneath her. "No, it's ok! It's a different ship in the second one!"

Jareth breathed a deep sigh of relief, then suddenly froze. He rounded once again upon Sarah.

"You mean this _could_ have been the sequel? You read- You think- You like- My make-up-" Sarah wasn't sure, but she could have _sworn_ she saw Jareth's eye twitch.

"I think you're just jealous because you don't _have_ a sequel." Meg offered (un)helpfully.

"And how many sequels does your vampire have?" Jareth snarled, expression hurt.

"Three." She replied haughtily. "_And_ a novella."

"Yes, well… I bet he doesn't have my legions of fans!" Jareth replied triumphantly.

Meg, Sarah and Captain Hugh stared at Jareth in disbelief. A passing goblin shook his head, patting Jareth sympathetically on the knee, before looking up at the others to offer an explanation.

"King doesn't get out much."

"That must be a mighty big, fan-girl proof rock ye be livin' under." Captain Hugh raised an eyebrow disbelievingly.

"I am mistrustful of the internet." Jareth pouted sulkily.

"Don't expect me to believe you've never Googled yourself." Sarah crossed her arms, skewering Jareth with a piercing expression.

"That's not what I said."

"Look, this is fascinating and all, but are we going to fight or not?" Captain Hugh whined sulkily.

"Fine. If it's a showdown you want, it's a showdown you'll get!"

Jareth drew himself up to his full height, drawing a glittering sword of impossibly thin black diamond from the sheath on his belt. Rubies glistened in its hilt, and a crimson fire seemed to burn within the heart of the blade.

Captain Hugh looked at the forlorn piece of steel in his hand, and gulped.

"Hey Sarah." Meg hissed in a loud and unconvincing stage-whisper. "Jareth's is bigger."


	8. Girls Are Scary

I'M SORRY I DON'T UPDATE OFTEN ENOUGH, I AM A HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE PERSON AND I WILL UNDERSTAND IF YOU NEVER, EVER FORGIVE ME, I HAVE NO EXCUSE FOR MY BEHAVIOUR

Ahem. Allow me to present the next chapter of this ongoing... thing, in which Jareth is awesome but Sarah is perhaps even more awesome, and they're still on a boat for some reason even though they were supposed to be off it by now.

Which brings us to our song: I'm on a Boat by I believe The Lonely Island, a genius suggestion by GeeAnnaB, who gets Gold Hotpants and a fistbump because that song is perfect in its terribleness and trueness (they are, after all, on a boat. Or ship, depending on whose ego you stand with).

I am going to resist the urge to ramble on for ages, because I really need to stop treating updates as journal entires and actually get myself a blog. ANYWAY, I own nothing, etc., as you really should know by know.

I could lie and say that reviews will make me update faster, but I won't. I'll beg and say reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside instead. So leave one, if you haven't forgotten who I am and what the hell is going on my now. Thankyou.

* * *

There was no noise aboard the ship. Somewhere in the sky far above them, a sea-bird screamed into the silence. King Jareth and Captain Hugh stared at each other, swords held upright, sizing each other up and waiting for a chance to strike. A breeze lifted the ends of their hair and caused their sleeves to flutter. Their captive audience was statue-still, pirates and goblins alike remarkably silent.

There was a flash of black and red and the captain only just managed to block in time. The clash of diamond against steel rang out, clear and pure across the ocean.

Jareth stepped back again, swirling his cape ostentatiously and smirking. The captain lunged forward expertly, but was swiftly side-stepped by the Goblin King. They met, blocked, parried, lunged, over and over in an elaborate dance. The clash of diamond against steel rang out again and again with increasing speed and frequency, until it was harsh and furious as the sea-bird's scream. Captain Hugh sprayed droplets of sweat with each swish of his sword, hair swinging about his face in an ebony curtain. Jareth kept one hand casually at the small of his back, posture somehow lazy despite the speed of his attacks. Both men grinned, and each grin was a predatory snarl.

At Captain Hugh's every aggressive lunge, every block Jareth threw up, Sarah felt her heart stop for the most fleeting of seconds. Adrenaline was racing through her veins as she followed the Goblin King's every move, waiting and, secretly –hoping- that he would not be hurt, would not lose the battle, until she was panting as heavily as though she herself were a participant in the fight.

Jareth watched Sarah surreptitiously from the corner of his eye, noting her obvious concern with pleasure. His opponent fought well, it was true, but no mortal man could match the Goblin King in swordplay. Still, an easy victory may not give him precisely the desired result, Sarah-wise. He had to show he was not entirely perfect, that he was sensitive, that he, too, could bleed. Human women liked that, apparently; that was what he had inferred from his own dealings with romance novels (delivered to his Irish home entirely by a most irksome accident, and not at all through the purchase of a monthly subscription).

Captain Hugh slashed upwards expertly, in a move Jareth could easily have blocked. However, eyes on Sarah, Jareth let his sword slip just a little so the captain's blade slashed open his leather shirt across the collar bone, leaving a long, shallow cut. Jareth allowed a slight stagger backwards, a look of surprise, angling his body just so to allow Sarah a full glimpse of the crimson blood dripping from his chest.

"In need of a respite, old man?" The Captain sneered, swishing his sword in a triumphant gesture.

"Five minutes." Jareth nodded, arranging his features into a suitably pained expression.

He turned towards Sarah, who ran towards him with a horrified expression. Jareth suppressed a triumphant smirk of his own.

"Jareth!" Sarah tore a strip of cloth from the hem of her dress, then pushed Jareth into a sitting position on an old barrel. "Here, let me..."

He sat very still as she wrapped the strip of cloth around his shoulder, watching her silently as she dressed his wound. Her brow was furrowed, the corners of her mouth set downwards in an expression of concern. Her touch was gentle, her hands steady. Inwardly Jareth was dancing, using every ounce of strength he possessed not to whoop in delight.

"Concerned, precious?" He purred as Sarah tied the ends of his bandage together. He allowed a small amount of blood to leak through onto the makeshift bandage, just for effect, but beneath the cloth his wound was already healed.

Sarah frowned at him, but he could see the truth in her eyes. "I'm touched." He grasped her hand in his, tone in equal measures teasing and sincere.

"Does it hurt?" Sarah asked despite herself, for the moment not taking back her hand.

"Yes." Jareth tossed his head dramatically, then mustered up the full force of his seductive powers and looked up into Sarah's eyes with a look so smoulderingly sensual Meg suddenly felt her knees knock from several metres away. "But it might hurt a little less... if you kissed it better."

"In a moment." Sarah patted his head distractedly, eyes searching the deck around them. Jareth pouted, somewhat confused, and most put out from being patted like, as he saw it, an animal or small child.

Spotting her goal, Sarah lunged forward and seized Jareth's sword from where he had placed it on the ground. Her eyes burned fiercely as she strode to the centre of the deck, sword in hand.

"Oi! Captain!" Captain Hugh turned, eyes wide with amusement and surprise. "Nobody hurts the Goblin King but me!"

"You mean to fight me, wench?" The captain guffawed. His crew members bellowed with laughter, but the goblins began to smirk.

"What's wrong, you scurvy dog? Scared?" Sarah snarled.

"Of you? No." The captain grinned at Sarah, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "But if you wish to fight me, then fight we shall."

"Sarah, precious, I'm not entirely sure that's wise." Jareth called out from his perch on the barrel.

"Not now, Jareth, I'm busy defending your honour." Sarah snarled back.

"I thought_ I_ was defending _your_ honour." Jareth resisted the urge to scratch his head in confusion.

"Let her go, bub. That girl's got balls of steel." Meg informed him wisely, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Come, wench! Let us dance!" The captain bellowed, still grinning as he pointed his sword at Sarah.

"Dance we shall, you swine." Sarah grinned back with a look that would have send Cerberus running with its tail between its legs, then she lunged forward, Jareth's sword flashing in the sun.


End file.
